


Stay

by Brinchestiel



Series: Destiel Drabbles, Prompts, One-shots, IDK. [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean Has Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinchestiel/pseuds/Brinchestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble written for the lovely constellations-on-feathers on Tumblr, who provided me with the following prompt:<br/>“Please, don’t leave.”</p><p>Written as a sort of fix it, post 9x03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

** Stay **

****

When Castiel touches down at the bunker, it’s late enough that both his charges are sound asleep.

He makes his rounds. Like he always does. Sam first.

He flocks silently to the younger Winchester’s bedside, and reaches out his borrowed grace to gently check for injuries, any blooming ailments, but finds nothing, much to his relief. He watches Sam, face mushed into his pillow, with a fond smile for just a few moments longer before he finally relents to the magnetic tug of Dean’s soul in the next room.

He frowns when he sees Dean covered in a thin layer of sweat, tossing and turning atop the mattress, the comforter kicked into an unceremonious mound at the bottom of the bed. Castiel lifts the edges gingerly, leaning over to tuck the blanket back around his charge.

That’s when Dean lets out a pained whimper. Castiel stills instantly, wondering if he should hide, if what he’s doing here is totally out of bounds.

Dean’s eyes are shut tight, his mouth pressed into a thin line, brow compressing like he’s suffering from an unpleasant physical sensation. Perhaps a headache?

Castiel reaches out two fingers to Dean’s moist forehead (touching Dean isn’t necessary for this process, but Castiel doesn’t let himself dwell too long on that), spreading his grace throughout Dean’s body, checking and checking again. Apart from a little liver damage, which Castiel can’t help but alleviate, all is well.

He frowns as another cry bubbles past Dean’s lips, louder this time. His fists curl in on themselves, ripping the sheets from the corners of the mattress. A bad dream?

Castiel doesn’t feel certain that Dean would appreciate his ‘rifling through his noggin’ as he would so eloquently put it, so he settles for the next best thing. He lays a gentle hand upon Dean’s shoulder and shakes.

“Dean?”

A tear slides into Dean’s hair, and if Castiel weren’t so close, he probably wouldn’t hear Dean’s whispered plea,

“No, Cas, p-please don’t leave.”

Castiel frowns, shaking Dean a little harder this time.

“I’m sorry, Cas, I didn- don’t go,” Dean whimpers, his breath coming in gasps that sound almost deafening in the near silence.

“Dean,” Castiel tries a little louder, hands cradling Dean’s face, “Dean, wake up, you’re dreaming.”

But, Dean won’t stir, instead he curls in on himself, biting down on his fist. Castiel decides right then that he can apologise to Dean later for this breach of privacy. He needs to stop Dean from hurting. Has to.

As soon as he closes his eyes and directs his intent to Dean’s inner eye, he’s confronted with a whirlwind of scenes. Dean swearing as he sees Castiel… is that a specter of him in purgatory?… limping along the side of the road. He watches as Dean swerves to a stop, wrenching himself out of the drivers seat, shaking himself when he sees nothing there.

Castiel sees himself, in this very bunker, dressed in an old hoodie of Dean’s. He remembers that article of clothing very fondly; remembers the smell of Dean beneath the dust, recalls burying his nose into the soft fabric every chance he got. From within Dean’s mind, he can feel the clenching of Dean’s heart, the shots of pain, as Dean’s words reverberate around and around,

“You can’t stay.”

Dean’s dream flits and whirls, and then Castiel watches himself murdered by his own blade. And he hears Dean cry out, both in the dream, and in the dark quiet of his bedroom.

_“You can’t stay.”_

Another jab of pain, stinging, burning. Castiel closes his eyes to it. This was his own most painful memory, but to see it through Dean’s eyes… he had no idea. He chooses that moment to reveal himself to Dean’s dream-self as he bends over Castiel’s lifeless body, bleeding and cold. Dean’s eyes go wide, and no matter how much Castiel braces himself, the catapult sensation of Dean waking up is enough to steal his breath away.

The room is quiet. Castiel is still sat, leaning over Dean’s body. But, Dean is awake, looking right at him with eyes still wet with tears.

“The hell, Cas?” he mutters, wiping roughly at his cheeks.

“You were in distress, and I couldn’t wake you.”

Dean sighs heavily, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Do y-“

“No, Cas, I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean snaps, but his expression softens almost immediately. Castiel is getting pretty sick of frowning.

“Cas…” Dean sighs, picking at the surface of the comforter around his legs.

Castiel can feel the longing of Dean’s soul, acute and piercing. He’s been here long enough by now to know that his human needs some form of comfort, but with Dean it’s always so hard to know…

He reaches out hesitantly, breathing a huff of surprise when Dean’s arms wrap tightly around him.

“Stay, Cas,” Dean whispers, and it’s enough to relax Castiel enough to envelop him in a tight embrace, “please stay.”


End file.
